Cigarettes and Comic Books
by electricarsenic
Summary: *THIS IS NOT FINISHED* I am just trying out writing here, so tell em if you like it so far, and I'll continue! Lonely Gerard meets new student Frank, finds someone who he truly loves and cares about. Love is secret.


Intro:

No one can ever say they have never had any romantic feelings towards the opposite sex. Society has told us it's unacceptable, and people will go to any limits to back that up. Unfortunately for me, my life has been revolved around that. Ever since I came out of the womb my family crams down my throat the "words of God" and "all faggots go to hell". That's why I never talk to them about anything. I don't even know for sure who and what I love anymore. Life is hard, I know that. I just think it's unfair I've had to deal with it my entire life.

Chapter 1:

Ricocheting back and forth on my heels, I anxiously wait to be assigned a seat. Here I am, one of the last few still standing, waiting to be called. I've never liked the first day of school. Friends for me are a joke, so I don't talk much, and when I do, it's all the superficial bullshit you'll say to get someone off your back. Everyone else has their friends. And once again, I'm alone.

"Mr. Way, you sit there in the far left back corner." The mysterious teacher who has yet to give us her name spits out at me.

"Woohoo, go Gerard!" All the assholes think it's funny to call me out since I'm the "loner". If it's outside class, I'll beat the living shit out of anyone who gets on my nerves. I know it's not the best way to handle things, but I've been fighting forever. No one would really guess it, though. My arms are sticks with really no muscle on them at all and I'm kind of frail, and I look like I could get beat up easily. I don't though. I almost never lose my fights. Guys know I'm a good fighter, and I've given at least half of them some kind of injury, but they still pester me.

I remember back in ninth grade, the gym teacher suggested I should go on the wrestling team. I acted interested, but I never took it any further than saying I would. I can be a real prick if I want to be, but actually most of the time I'm painfully shy. Hence, no friends.

Class drags the same way it has my entire experience in school. It feels so much longer when you're sitting there quiet, not having anyone to talk to. I barely even pay attention in school; I usually just draw over all my notes and papers. I guess that's why I'm failing.

Homeroom. Lunch. End of day. All the classes just kind of blur into one for me. I rarely pay attention to anything anymore. Home for me isn't much better, my parents being the Bible-belt Christians they are, are so judgmental about everyone who's a little different, including me. My relationship with my parents has snowballed since about fifth grade. I wasn't the perfect, good Christian boy they wanted their son to be. I'd fight, I'd fail classes, I'd get suspended. Hell, I still do all of that, and they hate me for it. It's not easy knowing no one really gives two shits about you.

I creep silently through the front door, hoping my parents aren't home. They both work to support me and my brother. Oh yeah, my brother Michael, but my parents lovingly have gave him the nickname Mikey. He's not perfect either, but my parents love him a lot more than me. They cater to him, yet he drinks, does pot, and sells drugs. My parents are too oblivious to realize everything he's doing. He's the best son they could have ever wanted in their eyes. I smoke cigarettes, but I've never really gotten into the drugs and alcohol. All I need is a little nicotine running through my veins and I can make it through the day. But oh, Gerard smokes, so I get punished every time they see me with a cig. It really pisses me off.

"Gerard. Folks aren't here. They're off doing who knows what." Mikey's lying on the couch, staring at the television.

"Doesn't surprise me. They're always out doing something that probably doesn't even fucking matter." I mutter.

Mikey grunts in agreement. Even though some part of me doesn't like Mikey, we still get along well. Well enough to not be fighting every second. He's taught me some things about fighting, and we both love Iron Maiden and horror movies and all that. We also both agree how moronic out parents are, which gives me some assurance knowing that I'm not the only one that doesn't like my parents.


End file.
